The Brides of Chance Collection Part 18

"You've been too kind already." She eyed the meat hungrily.

"Nonsense." He offered it again. This time she took it.

"Thank you."

"I hate to eat alone."

A pretty smile lifted the corners of her lips.

t.i.tus almost choked on his bite of jerky. He hadn't realized how badly he'd wanted to see her smile. The sight of it brightened the entire inside of the stagecoach, as far as he was concerned.

A giggle from the other side of the stagecoach captured his attention. He turned to find the woman next to Miss Worthington grinning at him. She sent him a broad wink. His ears burned to have been so transparent.

To his profound relief, she didn't dwell on the situation. Instead, she stretched and moved the still-sleeping little boy onto the seat. He mumbled and shifted and finally ended up with his head resting against Miss Worthington's shoulder.

"Do you mind?" the child's mother asked. "I'm worn clean through. He sure isn't the teensy baby he once was." With a weary huff, she glanced out the window, then back to t.i.tus. "How far do we have to go?" she asked.

"Only a couple more hours."

"Oh, I will be so glad to be done with trains and stagecoaches. I never plan to travel again."

"Do you have family in town?" t.i.tus asked, more to be polite than from a desire to know.

"My brother, Aaron Bladdel. Do you know him?"

"The blacksmith? Sure. I didn't realize he had a sister."

She laughed, and her twinkling blue eyes set in a chubby-cheeked face made him feel more at ease. "I suppose I should be insulted that he hasn't mentioned me."

"We talk more business than anything."

"Then I suppose I'll forgive him."

t.i.tus returned her smile. "Will your husband be joining you?"

Her expression crashed. "No. I'm afraid my Henry pa.s.sed on a few weeks ago. That's why Davy and I are here."

Miss Worthington reached around Davy and patted her hand. "I am so sorry, Mrs...." She glanced at t.i.tus for support, but he hadn't caught the woman's name, either.

"Ah, well." The woman pulled a lace handkerchief from her bag and dabbed at her eyes. "There's no point in crying. It only upsets Davy. And my name is Mrs. Greene. Violet Greene." She smiled. "Henry always laughed at my name. Two colors."

t.i.tus had to admire her spirit. He didn't want to bring it up, but he doubted seriously she'd be long without a husband. Not in a town where the men outnumbered the women about twenty to one.

Of course that applied to Miss Worthington, too. Now that thought stuck in his craw, and it was mighty uncomfortable!

Alisa's arm was growing numb by the time Davy woke up and glared at her as though she'd been the one to pull him from the safety and warmth of his mother's lap.

"I'm thirsty, Mommy."

"I know, sweetheart. We will be in Reliable very soon, and I will get you a drink."

"I'm thirsty now!"

"I'm sorry, but the water is all gone. You drank it to wash down your lunch, remember? I told you that was all."

Mr. Chance slipped his hand into his saddlebag and produced a canteen.

"Oh, we couldn't," Mrs. Greene insisted.

"I have plenty." He winked at Davy. "Can't have the boy thirsty. Take some for yourself, as well, and pa.s.s it to Miss Worthington."

The little boy gulped noisily, then heaved a sigh and began swinging his legs, thumping the bottom of the seat as he had earlier.

Alisa pressed her fingertips to her temple, trying to ward off the mounting ache.

"Hey, little fella," Mr. Chance said, smiling at Davy. "How about not kicking that seat?"

The child scowled and turned his face to his mother's arm, but he continued to thump the seat. "I'm so sorry," Mrs. Greene said. "It's difficult for him to keep still."

"It's all right," Alisa said. She'd never seen such a poorly behaved child. Growing up in an orphanage had taught her obedience. Though her upbringing had not been harsh, it was most definitely strict.

Trying to ignore the pain in her head, now throbbing in time to the kicks of Davy's boots against the seat, she glanced out the window. In the distance, she saw riders coming. She turned to alert Mr. Chance, but his gaze, too, was focused toward the horizon. A muscle jerked in his jaw.

A sense of unease crept through Alisa as she felt his tension. His hand went to his gun belt. It was empty. Frustration crossed his features.

"Is everything all right, Mr. Chance?"

"The men coming are not the welcoming party from Reliable," he said in a matter of-fact tone.

"Oh, Reliable has a welcoming party?" Mrs. Greene asked.

Alisa fought the urge to roll her eyes. "I believe Mr. Chance is saying the men coming are up to no good."

Mr. Chance nodded gravely. "You're right, Miss Worthington. I'm afraid those are the same men who robbed me last night. They took my gun and my horse and all the money I had in my pocket."

Mrs. Greene let out a little shriek and grabbed Davy close. "Oh my."

"Mr. Wayne?" the cowboy called to the stage master.

"I see 'em," came the rough reply. "Yaw!" he yelled to the horses, and the stage sped up.

But even Alisa could see there would be no outrunning two men on horseback. "What should we do, Mr. Chance?"

"Unless you have a pistol hidden in that bag of yours, I suggest we pray." He hesitated; then he gave what Alisa was sure was supposed to have been a rea.s.suring smile. However, it fell short of doing any such thing. "If they were out to truly do any harm, I'm sure they would have done more than kick dirt in my face and steal my horse."

"They kicked dirt in your face?" Mrs. Greene asked. "How awful."

"Not so awful as a bullet," Mr. Chance retorted absently. Alisa had to agree.

Gunfire sounded, and the stage master pulled the stage to a stop. The two bandits held pistols upright. A series of shots fired into the air. They ordered the wagon master to throw down his weapons and climb down. Then a gravelly voice called out, "All right. Get out. All of you."

Alisa looked to Mr. Chance for instruction. He nodded and opened the stage door. "I'll go first." He climbed down, then turned and offered his a.s.sistance to Alisa. Next he lifted Davy from the stage, then helped Mrs. Greene.

"That all of ya?" one of the bandits asked.

"Yes." Mr. Chance stood, fists clenched.

Recognition flashed in the bandit's dark eyes. "Well, Amos, looky here. This feller jest ain't very lucky."

The other man chuckled. "Didn't we make yer acquaintance last night? Yep, that's one nice Colt ya give us." He patted the sleek neck of the horse he had just dismounted. "And this girl here is one beaut of a horse."

The cowboy grinned back, and Alisa frowned. What was he up to?

"I suppose this surely isn't my lucky day, but I have to tell you...it's not yours, either."

"How do ya figure that?"

"Well, considering you forced me to empty my pockets last night, you won't find anything of value on me. And this young lady didn't even have..."

Alisa drew in a breath. Would he humiliate her just to prove the point that if she couldn't feed herself, she probably couldn't give them anything of value?

"A trunk," he said, completing his observation. Despite her precarious situation, Alisa's heart swelled with grat.i.tude. Mr. Chance personified all the heroes in her dime books-the stories she hadn't been allowed to read when she lived at the orphanage. But since becoming Mrs. Worthington's companion, Alisa read everything she could get her hands on, dime books included.

He continued goading the thieves. "The other young lady is widowed and traveling to Reliable to live with her brother because she can't raise her son alone."

"I thought you said there was a senator on this here stage, Bart."

"Can I help it if that drunk varmint back at the Lucky Hand Saloon lied to me?" The man eyed his partner. "And what have I told you about calling me by my name?"

"Sorry, Bar...Joe."

Alisa stifled a giggle behind her hand.

"All right, gimme whatever ya got," the one called Bart said. He held out his hat as though pa.s.sing around the offering plate.

Scurrying to obey, Mrs. Greene opened her satchel and tossed a wad of money into the hat. Alisa's eyes widened, and she stared at the woman. "Mamy husband was well off. I never said I came west because I was poor. Although, after today, that is certainly going to be my circ.u.mstance."

"Yee-haw!"

Alisa jumped as Amos grabbed the hat away from Bart. He stopped in front of Mr. Chance. "Not our lucky day, huh? Well then what do you call this?"

The cowboy glared but kept his mouth shut. Alisa couldn't help but be relieved. A man capable of robbery might also be capable of violence if provoked.

The man came to her. "Well? Whaddaya got, girlie? Or am I gonna have to search ya?"

Mr. Chance stepped forward. "Keep your filthy hands off her. She has nothing."

"I'll see that fer myself."

Alisa showed him her reticule. "Aaall that I have is a handkerchief."

"That all? Well, maybe I'll take a kiss instead."

Shrinking back in alarm, Alisa felt the blood rushing to her head. She grabbed Mr. Chance's arm to keep from losing her balance.

"I thought I told you to leave her alone!" He reached out to grab Amos just as Bart's gun fired.

Alisa stared in horror as Mr. Chance slipped from her grasp. He landed with a thud on the ground, blood spilling from a wound in his temple.

Chapter 3.

t.i.tus slowly came to, pain slicing his temple. Pebbles ground into his back-evidence he was lying on hard ground. His head, however, was pillowed in something soft and elevated off the ground. Gentle fingers pushed back the hair from his forehead and pressed a wet cloth to his temple. He opened his eyes.

Miss Worthington?

"Oh, thank You, Lord," she breathed. "He's coming around."

Was he dreaming? Or was Miss Worthington even prettier from this angle? He started to sit up, but a wave of dizziness sent him back to...Miss Worthington's lap? If this was a dream, may he never wake up!

"How are you feeling, Mr. Chance?"

He offered her a wobbly smile. "Like I've been shot. What happened? I'm obviously not dead. Unless, of course, you're an angel."

A beguiling blush darkened her rosy cheeks. "I'm afraid you're still mortal, Mr. Chance. And I most certainly am, as well."

A shadow blocked the glow of the retreating sun. The stage master stood over him. "Well, if that bullet had been a little more to the left, he wouldn't be with us. As it is, he's going to have a monster of a headache for a few days from that nick." His gravelly voice held not a trace of sympathy. Like a grizzled Westerner, he stated the simple facts. "Them varmints took off like a couple of scared jackrabbits after you pitched to the ground. Lucky for you they couldn't hit the broad side of a barn with a sawed-off shotgun."

It had nothing to do with luck, he thought, at the same time Miss Worthington said, "Luck had nothing to do with it, Mr. Wayne. G.o.d surely had His hand on Mr. Chance."

Hmmm. He gazed into her suspiciously moist eyes and smiled. She smiled back. "Are you able to get up now?"

He'd rather just stay there forever, close his eyes, and relieve the pain in his head, but he couldn't take advantage of her generous spirit and soft lap any longer. He sat up again, this time with her a.s.sistance. The world spun for a moment. Miss Worthington handed him the wet handkerchief she'd been holding against his head.

"Thank you."

His gaze locked onto hers, and he felt time stand still. How could he have ever believed himself in love with a woman like Prissy White? He couldn't even remember what she looked like, except for the ridiculous false blond curls she'd recently taken to wearing. Funny, two weeks ago, he'd found them attractive. But that was before he'd met Miss Worthington. And right now she seemed to be having as much trouble looking away as he was having.

Mr. Wayne stepped forward and offered his hand. "Well, let's get you back into the stage. I got a schedule to keep."

t.i.tus groaned as pain stabbed his head. Movement wasn't necessarily a good thing, but he gritted his teeth and closed his eyes as the stage master hefted him to his feet. Miss Worthington stood on one side of him. He swayed as the world spun. The gentle pressure of her palm heated his back. "It's all right, Mr. Chance. I won't let you fall."